What Dreams Know
by LuvEwan
Summary: Obi-Wan decides to turn something down. Slightly AU. Pre-TPM. Complete.


What Dreams Know

Written by LuvEwan

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Bunny courtesy of shanobi—all the good ones tend to be.

Obi-Wan decides to turn something down. AU-ish.

--

He learned to be prepared to let things go.

It was the rational way; so few things could remain the same forever. And some things, some hopes, never formed outside the secluded landscape of the mind. Clasping onto a feeling-or a person- with both hands was never smart, for so quickly could it all run through the tiny cracks between his fingers.

Still, he had allowed himself to want. He had looked into a pair of eyes and seen what could be his future, what he had worked his whole, albeit short, life for. A last chance, and his instinct was to grasp on, to silence the voice in his veins, to say 'yes'.

But when he looked further into the horizon of those eyes, he saw more than his own potential tomorrow.

And he released the notion of accepting what was placed before him. He took a half step back from the man. "I…I'm sorry" he gulped out the words, forcing himself not to look at his boots, or out the window of their room on Bandomeer, or anywhere but the quietly expectant face of Qui-Gon Jinn, "I am very grateful for the offer, but I… cannot be your Padawan."

The Jedi Master blinked, surprise seeping slowly into his blue gaze. "I-I don't understand."

Obi-Wan could feel his heart in his chest, in his throat, behind his temples. He thought he would crumble, that all of his bones and guts would turn to dust at this venerable man's feet. Was this happening? Was he actually doing this?

After the desperate appeals to Master Jinn, the promise of loyalty and obedience, the incredible, exhilarating moment when he was finally given the opportunity to serve beside the Jedi's resident rogue, while on the cusp of death itself, Obi-Wan was rejecting the apprenticeship. He knew where it would leave him, back in the Agricorps protecting crops instead of peace, tending soil rather than treaties. He could admit, it was not what he would choose for himself.

The Force, however, never asked what path he would prefer his life to take. It was the only option he _could_ take, to honor his training, and serve the innocent. To become this man's Padawan would be…

No. Better not to finish the thought. What good was happiness if he knew it would be fleeting, and would ultimately cause darkness, strife, and horrible pain? That was what he sensed, seconds after Qui-Gon called Obi-Wan "Padawan".

The title felt right to Obi-Wan. But it sent a cold roil through the Force.

How could he deny that, in order to satisfy his own selfish desires? "These past few days, I've…I realized I'm not meant for this. I can't do it."

Qui-Gon frowned. "Obi-Wan, I know that you've had a rough time. You left your home, you thought your dream of Knighthood was over. And this ordeal with Xanatos. Everything seems to have hit all at once, and it can be overwhelming." He moved forward, and placed a warm, broad hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, "You risked your life to stop that bomb, young one. You say you can't do it, but you have already acted as an exemplary Jedi."

Obi-Wan curled his fingers up against his palms. He was shaking. "That was just a day, Master Jinn. It was just adrenaline."

But Qui-Gon shook his head. "You haven't thought this through." The grip on his shoulder, both his shoulders now, strengthened, "Eat something and sleep. Mediate. Give this the deliberation it deserves." Softly, "We have time."

Obi-Wan watched him start for the door. He wondered if maybe it _was _nerves or exhaustion, maybe even fear. Was he superimposing his emotions onto the Force, so he wouldn't feel like a coward?

He closed his eyes. Screams, clouds of blood and smoke, the thunderous, dreadful echo of hard footsteps.

_Your fault. YOUR fault._

He lay back on his bunk, and waited for the words to fade. They never did.

--

Qui-Gon wasn't sure where to go. He had not planned on the conversation going as it did. Especially since Obi-Wan Kenobi had been fiercely set on Knighthood under Qui-Gon's tutelage, up until today.

The boy looked drained of _something_. He wanted to diagnose it as weariness, but it seemed only a shallow explanation. Where was the spirited initiate who declared such unyielding willingness to sacrifice his life for strangers, who nearly begged for Qui-Gon to consider him? That Obi-Wan would never throw it away on a whim.

The air was stale, and felt as gray as the sky. He wanted to be away from here, at last gone from the taint of his fallen apprentice, taking the new and pure and bright without looking back. He couldn't look back; he knew it would make him stumble, and he refused to do it anymore.

When he thought of how vehemently he dodged opportunities, it shamed him. The walls he built were thick, and he had felt safe within them, but the safety did not compare to the glimpse of brilliant bliss in Obi-Wan Kenobi's eyes. He knew it was very likely those walls helped Obi-Wan shut himself off.

In the beginning, he would not acknowledge any faith in Obi-Wan. Could he fault the child, then, for not having enough faith in himself?

--

Perhaps Obi-Wan truly wasn't cut out to be a Padawan. He had neither slept nor eaten, as Qui-Gon had urged him to. And though he meditated, it was an unsatisfying session, riddled with the same visions that plagued him in full cognizance. He spent most of the afternoon agonizing over how he would tell Master Jinn the plain truth: nothing would change his mind.

When evening began turning light to shadow, a gentle knock roused him from his thoughts. He was worried he would lose the meager contents of his stomach as soon as he opened the door for his would-be mentor. He swallowed and hit the palm pad.

A cool rush of air assailed him, but Qui-Gon remained still, just at the threshold.

"Hi," Obi-Wan said, then felt himself flush at the ridiculous greeting.

Qui-Gon took it as permission to enter the room. He walked across the floor and sat on the bunk's edge.

Obi-Wan looked at him. His mouth was too dry to speak.

"Have you given this deeper thought?"

"Yes," he rasped, marveling once more that it was his voice echoing in his ears, "I must decline your offer of apprenticeship, Master Jinn."

Qui-Gon exhaled heavily. "You want to be a Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan. You cannot honestly say you don't want it."

"I don't want it."

"Then you are lying, to me and yourself."

Obi-Wan nearly flinched at that. "I apologize, Master Jinn, but you hardly know me."

Qui-Gon looked up at him, and he was startled to glimpse real frustration-shades of anger, even-in the usually calm face. "I know what I felt in the Force when I met you. You were hardheaded, and too defensive, and bent on impressing me. You _wanted _to be a Jedi Knight." His tone eased, "I would not have asked you if I did not think you capable, Obi-Wan. I know I took far too long getting to this point, but you must understand it wasn't anything to do with _you_." The Master studied his folded hands, "The, uh, the legacy of Xanatos nearly destroyed my life. I thought I would never be able to separate myself from that corruption, those memories. And whenever I looked into the face of a potential apprentice, I thought I saw another threat of betrayal.

"It wasn't until we were brought together, here, that I realized it was the threat of failure that paralyzed me. I did not guide Xanatos to Knighthood. I saw the promise in you, Obi-Wan…I didn't want to taint that.

"But something _has _tainted it. Why else would you decide to throw away thirteen years of training?"

For a moment, he felt as if he were betraying himself. What if these warnings and images eventually drifted away, like a harmless dream slowly forgotten? Thirteen years. All his memories.

His life.

But what of the lives of countless others, if the visions drenching his mind were prophecies? The Force told him his partnership with Master Jinn would, somehow, birth chaos. And yet the man knew nothing of such marring shadow, this man who was revered even among the Jedi Council. Could he really know more than Qui-Gon, in this or any matter? What-or who-should he trust?

Obi-Wan seemed so small next to the decision. He longed to be an initiate again. Finding a Master was always a concern, but for years it was a distant one, faded by the vibrant immediacy of classes and saber practice and friends.

Now he had a Master, waiting to be accepted by him. It was backwards, painfully surreal when a few scant days ago he would have done anything to win Qui-Gon's approval.

He was sure he did not look as dignified, as patient, as Qui-Gon looked, serenity already restored. Obi-Wan couldn't imagine ever feeling serene again. He cleared his throat, but he still sounded unsteady, "This is the best thing for everyone."

"Everyone?"

Obi-Wan coughed quietly at the lingering constriction of his air passages. If he could just breathe, he was certain this would be easier. "The Universe needs worthy Jedi. I can't be one."

"In the short time I've known you, you have shown yourself worthy, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon stood, staring down into Obi-Wan's eyes, "You were as brave, quick and selfless as any true Jedi."

Obi-Wan tried to smile at the praise, but abandoned the attempt when he felt the sharp, cold sting of tears. He wanted to be a true Jedi. It was raw, authentic, at the core of him, and having to deny it killed him.

Qui-Gon laid a hand on the side of his face. "And even a true Jedi can exhaust himself, after the ordeal you've been through."

He slowly shook his head, helpless against the sudden outpour. Before, he would have feverishly wiped away every remnant of moisture, mortified to display such weakness in Qui-Gon Jinn's presence. But this man was not to be his Master and he wouldn't be a Jedi. So what did his tears matter anyway? He was just another boy.

His eyes burned; he realized how tired he was. He couldn't remember ever wanting to sleep more.

Qui-Gon lifted the hand from his face, replacing it on the top of his head. "This is not a decision to be made in the dark, with weary eyes. The morning can change so much."

-

He listened to the rustling of sheets, the occasional shifting of limbs. Slumber-loose breaths from the other bed reminded Obi-Wan that he was still awake. The peacefulness of the room could not find its way inside him. Sliding out of bed, he glanced at Qui-Gon. The man's face was gently lax.

He didn't know. How could he not know? There were hundreds of hearts beneath Obi-Wan's skin, beating different rhythms and telling him different things.

But how could he blame the man, when he could not figure out what his own heart, his one real heart, was saying?

Obi-Wan stood at the window. It was thickly dark, and he could barely see the gray box buildings of Bandomeer. It could just as well have been Coruscant out there—home. But it was not where he was born. He had lived two lives already, briefly as a child of two parents, then as a trainee in the Jedi Order. Was this smeared scene merely his next existence, emerging out of that night?

He thought his heart was thudding harder in his chest, but it was knocking. Someone was at the door. Panic raced through him, as Xanatos' name rasped in his mind. He looked wildly to Qui-Gon, but he was asleep. A bit of the frenzy drained out. Qui-Gon would sense his former apprentice in an instant.

The knock came again, slow and soft.

Still jarred, he grabbed his robe and answered.

"You're early." The man standing in the doorway said.

Obi-Wan peered at the face, shaded by a cowl, but the corridor was too badly lit. "W-What do you mean?"

"You're very _early_. But everything is ready."

Obi-Wan looked back at Master Jinn. He had not been roused by the noise—so perhaps there was no threat here? "Ready?"

A hand closed on his shoulder. "To see, my boy. Do you want to see?"

Obi-Wan followed him into the corridor. His bare feet sunk. He blinked up at the man with open confusion. Gritty sand filled the space between his toes. "What is this?"

Another knock. He whirled around, searching for Qui-Gon. But the door wasn't there. None of the hotel doors were there. Just sand. "I-I have to go back. He'll worry if I'm gone."

"He _should _worry. He does not worry enough."

The rapping was sharper, coming quicker, more insistently. "What is that? I can't—I can't find a door."

"Keep walking."

He did. The figure remained behind him; he wasn't sure why he knew it, since he could not hear movement. Like a shadow, silent on his heels, and he walked faster, wanting to be there, wherever _there _was.

Obi-Wan's feet felt strange. He was wearing boots now. And proper, tan Jedi tunics, like Padawans had. He ran a hand down his sleeve. It was soft. Moving his fingers down, he brushed over a lightsaber, clipped to a smooth, brown belt. He clutched it, and the grooves fit to him perfectly. He smiled.

"Hey!"

His grip on the weapon tightened at the new, higher voice. A little kid—a boy---was standing next to a door. A door. The door.

More knocking. Hard rain pounding in his ears.

"Um, hi." Obi-Wan greeted the boy, who looked maybe nine or ten.

The boy swiped a few blonde hairs out of his eyes. "I can't get it open. I think…maybe you're here to help me?"

"Maybe." Obi-Wan studied the door's rough surface, half-extending a hand towards it.

"No!" The boy stopped him, "I want to help! I have to help!"

Obi-Wan pushed away a slight tinge of annoyance. "Then help."

Grinning, the boy leapt closer, reaching up to him.

"Ow!" Obi-Wan gaped, jaw slack, as the boy plucked a long, beaded braid from his ear, and placed it behind his own.

"See?" The younger child smiled, pride puffing up his small chest. The newly acquired decoration swung with his enthusiasm. "Now we can do it together!"

Obi-Wan had barely registered the boy's first feat when small fingernails raked down the door. Strips of it peeled away, disappearing before touching the sand.

"C'mon," the boy prodded, nudging Obi-Wan, "We should do it _together_."

Obi-Wan looked back over his shoulder. The man in the cowl was watching them, but said nothing. Obi-Wan couldn't even see his mouth anymore.

He laid his palm against the door. It was cold. He flexed his fingers, and scratched.

Layer by layer, the door fell apart.

The light-haired boy kept stealing glances at him, beaming even as sweat rolled down his determined face. "See? It's happening! Because of me! Because of you!"

Because of them, the door finally disintegrated.

Obi-Wan couldn't breathe.

Everywhere, bodies were tangled, legs and arms and slick, gray tentacles and blood-matted fur. Endless eyes gaped at him, shining and unblinking and still. A hand grasped his shoulders, and he turned.

It was Qui-Gon, holding on with both hands. "Your fault. YOUR fault…"

Obi-Wan shook his head, tears drowning his vision. He fisted Qui-Gon's tunic, needing to hold on, hold on… "No, no, he—"

He couldn't find the boy. The bodies were closing in around him, like a morbid, fleshy web.

"Please…I didn't know…" Obi-Wan tried to pin Qui-Gon's eyes, make him understand the truth, "D-Don't leave me here…"

"Alone?" The man in the cowl finished for him.

Obi-Wan shoved his face against Qui-Gon's chest, to hide from that shadowy non-face, but the solid body molded to nothing, and he was falling onto blood-red sand, fiery ash, screaming

"Obi-Wan!"

"Nononono…" He tore at the gray hands. Every searing touch was like death itself. "Please, I didn't know…"

"Obi-Wan, stop!"

Stop, yes. It had to. "Stop! Stop! Go away! I'm sorry I'm sorry!"

A crack, hot pain, against his face. His eyes flew opened. He couldn't control his whimpering. Qui-Gon Jinn was leaning above him, panting almost as hard as Obi-Wan was, alarm fading, but visibly present, in his blue eyes.

Obi-Wan's eyes darted around the bright room. Nothing had changed. Normal. Normal.

Qui-Gon stroked his cheek. It was throbbing from the slap. "Are you alright?"

Obi-Wan focused on the calming movements of the Master's hand, and did not reply.

They sat in quiet for awhile. Qui-Gon touched his hair, his trembling chin.

Obi-Wan couldn't look at him. "It's going to be my fault," he whispered.

"What is?" Qui-Gon pressed, in a tone nearly as soft.

A shudder wracked his body. "All that… all that pain…because of me."

Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan into his arms, shushing him. Obi-Wan's face was pressed against the man's heart, and his throat started closing…he waited for the man to melt away again…trapped…

"The only pain you have caused has been to yourself." Qui-Gon murmured against his temple. "I regret to say I aided you in it. I denied you, because of Xanatos. And I'm sorry for that, young one."

"N-No." Obi-Wan choked. "I did it."

"Did what, child?"

"I-In the dream, I—"

Qui-Gon laid his head on top of Obi-Wan's. "If we were guilty of everything done in a dream, the entire universe would be in prison chains, Obi-Wan. Dreams are a jumble of thoughts and nonsense—how can you trust that?"

"B-But it's like I can't get away from them…what if they're…"

"A vision?" Qui-Gon ran his fingers up and down the rigid back. "Those are little better. I have received visions of things that never came to pass. I have dreamed that Xanatos defeated the Jedi, but it was he that left defeated."

Qui-Gon smiled down at him. "And I never dreamed of you, but here you are. So dreams do not know very much, do they?"

Obi-Wan sniffed. A part of his terror uncoiled in the placid wake of the Master's logic. "Did you ever have a dream, o-or a vision, that _did _come to pass?"

"No," Qui-Gon said, without a beat of indecision between question and answer, "The Force offers foresight, of course, but it is different from dreams and visions. Dreams are too attached to your own desires and fears."

It made sense. After all, did his darkness-streaked visions of monsters as a crecheling materialize in reality? Obi-Wan relaxed further against Qui-Gon. The man tightened his support, and Obi-Wan felt suddenly buoyed, optimistic in a way that he thought lost the day he left Coruscant.

He drew back and rubbed his eyes dry. "I'm sorry I insulted your offer. I only turned it down because…well, I feel very stupid now. It seemed so…urgent."

"I understand." Qui-Gon's eyes gleamed. He stood and gently rapped Obi-Wan's knee. "Now, get dressed and packed. We'll have time for formalities later."

Obi-Wan sat on the bed a moment longer, gazing out the window. It did look different, in the morning light.

--

Qui-Gon took a sip of water and leaned his head back. For a seasoned Jedi accustomed to the field, space travel was not terribly exciting. This trip, in particular, was dragging. He admitted it was likely because he was more anxious than usual to return to the Temple.

It had been years since he took those first, momentous steps to train a new apprentice.

Said apprentice was currently napping, stretched along the slick, padded cushions, head pillowed by Qui-Gon's leg. Qui-Gon slipped his fingers in the silken hair, grazing over the patch where a braid would begin.

He knew he had, technically, lied to Obi-Wan about the nature of visions. Qui-Gon's latest vision, as rare as they were, did resonate on Bandomeer, when Obi-Wan intended to blow himself up to save the others.

But essentially, his view of dreams and visions remained the same. Of course he could not allow one to ruin the boy's chance at Knighthood. Later, they would tackle the topic at a deeper level. There was so much more to teach him before then. And he truly looked forward to it. Nothing would interfere.

--

He learned to be prepared to let things go.

He threw his entire self into his lessons. He studied every subject devotedly, and practiced saber techniques until they were instinctive. On missions, he watched his Master negotiate and fight and mediate, soaking it all in like the thirsty student he was.

And when he appeared before a door, and saw the horrors strike out from behind it, he let it go. A hundred times, he shed the film from his mind, through meditation or physical activity.

Sometimes, he started to look at Qui-Gon, at his life, and saw massacre instead. In those instances, he could barely stand to be near his teacher, the Jedi, anyone.

He let it go.

-


End file.
